Five Times
by sparkley-tangerine
Summary: Fate and Destiny are never simple. The possibilities and probabilities are endless.
1. Chapter 1

Five times Sam couldn't save Dean and one time he did

Warnings: Spoilers for Season One and Season Two, Character Death, Alternate Realities.

Disclaimer: Supernatural belongs to Kripke and the CW. tear

Summary: Part One in the Five Times Series. Fate and Destiny are never simple. The possibilities and probabilities are endless.

Notes: I've read a few of these and decided- in the middle of the night- that I wanted to do some too, damn it! It's probably already been done a bazillion times but here's my first contribution to the Supernatural fandom. basks in the newness

Feedback is love. AND this is also to show that no I haven't died and forgot to tell anyone about my fics. I've been writing, just not one particular story. My muse is jumpy- think crack addicted hummingbird on a lot of expresso. Tada- my muse.

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**Five Times Sam Didn't Save Dean and One Time He Did**

One

The first time he ever really loses control of his powers, Dean is being stubborn about finding a way out of his deal. Poision words fly like darts, meant to hurt and scar. Sometimes, Sam wonders if his brother even wants to be saved or if he wants to go out in a big heroic twist- _just like Dad._

Sam doesn't block the fist that comes flying at his jaw but unlike that time in the parking lot, he lets himself retaliate. His big hand is clenched into a hard fist as something dark and hot/cold and thrilling races thorugh his veins.

He doesn't even feel the pain of his knuckles connecting with Dean's suddenly fragile looking jaw. He doesn't even feel it when Dean doesn't get up swinging and spitting curses like their Latin. He's past the pain when his eyes register the blank, dull look of _dead_ in his brother's gaze. There are no bruises on his hand but Dean's jaw is already moltted with dark blue-black-purple marks.

His large, untouched- _demonic_- hands ghost over Dean's too-still features, struck by the irony of them arguing over his brother's coming death and wonders if this tight, dark emptiness in his chest is what made Lily's eyes look like broken pieces of the sky back in Cold Oaks.

Two

Dad never did answer his phone as the weeks flew by and Dean grew weaker and weaker. Joshua's faith healer turned out to be nothing more than a quack with a white collar and Sam was already out of ideas and doctors to badger. The last specialist had put Dean's name on the emergency transplant list but repeated- numerously- that most patients spent years waiting for a match and many passed before they could be saved.

His brother had weeks, not years Sam had shot back countless times as he practically lived by Dean's bedside. He only left after visiting hours, when the security had been called and to update himself on Dean's worsening condition.

"There's something killing horny teens down in Flordia, maybe you should go check it out." Dean coughed out, the sound a wet rattle that froze Sam's own lungs. "Getting out of here might do you some good. Get some sun and shit. You look like death warmed over. Heh."

"Dean," Sam said softly, his voice carrying over the beep of the heart monitor and the low hiss of the oxygen, right into Dean's ears. "I'm not leaving you."

"You did once." Dean murmured tiredly, his chest a steady ache. "Shouldn't be that hard to do a second time."

Sam jerked back in the hard plastic seat, exhausted and worried and heart sick over Dean's failing health. "Is that what this? Some twisted payback because I went to school? You- I- Argh!"

The younger hunter stood with a huff, the anger leaving his frame quickly. A shaky hand ran through greasy bangs before he spoke.

"I'm going to go get a coffee. We'll talk about this when I get back. Understand?"

Dean shrugged weakly before closing his eyes. Sam sighed and took it as another silent acknowlegement.

He was just a five minute walk away from the hospital when the heart monitor began to scream.

Sam knew his father had gotten his unanswered messages when he called John's cell only to hear "This is John Winchester. I can't be reached. If this is an emergency call my son, Sam….."

Three

"If it's here naturally…." Sam trailed off, vaguely hit with the idea that he was talking to his brother's spirit as his body fought to stay alive. He had to find a way to stop a reaper from claiming his brother's soul again, only this time there were no faith healers to lay down some mojo on his stupid ass.

Whatever that meant.

John was too busy limping around the hospital with all the makings of a summoning ritual tucking under his gown and Sam hated him with a passion as he watched the doctors keep working on his brother every time Dean crashed.

"There are only so many times we can resussitate your brother before there is permenant damage." The doctor said frankly. "There will eventually come a time when we can't bring him back and you will have to be ready to face his passing."

Sam had given the man with a Ph.D behind his name the Winchester version of a 'Fuck That' and started researching containment spells and protection rituals against Reapers. God what he wouldn't do to have Mrs. Le Grange's wonky cross and black magic right now.

God what he wouldn't do to have _his father_ here right now, helping him save Dean for once. His brother had already given them both so much- couldn't they give something back now that Dean was the one who needed it?

Sam jogged up to his dad's room, heedless of the aches and pains of his own body only to find a still empty bed and an absent father left in the wake of John's obsession.

The heart monitor screamed shrilly from Dean's room and with a sinking _ohgodno_ feeling, Sam knew this was it. He felt surreal and brittle, like a strong gust would break him to pieces as his feet drifted closer to the end of his world. Dean arched and flopped across the bed as the paddles tried to start his heart and for a moment, Sam was sure he could hear his brother screaming denials as the nurses and doctors shared half-hearted, knowing looks and kept pumping Dean's heart just because his little brother was watching.

The room blurred as the fuzzy shapes of the hospital personalle stopped compressions and someone unhooked the bag that kept Dean breathing for fuck's sake, and called out.

"Time of death- 10:42 am."

Sam staggared away from the reality and the pitying stares of the nurses and back to his father's room. Dad could fix it, he would fix it. He just had to wait from him to come back.

Yeah. Okay.

The sun set and rose again on Sam sitting broken in a plastic chair as his faith in his father drained from his veins and the demon blood he was unaware of filled the void. Dean was gone- his body moved and his spirit taken by the reaper as Sam did nothing and Dad….Dad-

Dad was limping through the door excitedly, a grin across his face and a fucking spring in his step as he spotted Sam.

"It's gone. The demon that killed your mother….it's gone."

Sam didn't smile and felt horribly empty at the news. Mom, Jess and now Dean- he's pretty sure the price wasn't worth it, just for a little revenge. He wonders if John feels the same way when he says, hollowly, "So is Dean" and watches the color drain from his father's face.

Four

His head is pounding like the drum solo of one of Dean's stupid tapes he plays so much the tunes are practically burned into Sam's subconscious. Something hard is pressed against his cheek and it's wet and cold like…like asphalt.

Things come together and speed up- like a vision without the mind numbing pain- before Sam thinks about the agony in his head, he's sitting up and spinning on the wild ride called The Ground. Evil Twin Number Two is curled in on himself, obviously dead if the puddle of blood around him is to be believed. Diner Girl is sobbing and muttering to herself in the corner as Andy tries to get her to come to him, still waving around the actual smoking gun. Whatever happened here, all Sam knew was that in the end, Andy did kill someone and his brother was a lousy sniper.

The numbers on his cell phone were blurry, white dots and sqiggles but Dean's number was speed dial one and apparently Sam wasn't important enough to answer.

"Andy? Andy! I need to get to Dean- something's wrong."

The geeky looking mind controller shifted his attention from his temporarily insane girlfriend to Sam's worried gaze.

"I'm sorry. I couldn't stop him before- he was stronger than I was. Better than I was. Dean…"

Sam staggared to his feet in panic, hitting the car at his side before standing in a vaguely steady way. Andy's words were…..more than a bit frightening and just not possible. No.

"Dean- Dean's just not answering his phone. He's a dick like that." Sam was in denial. "You- you're wrong."

"We heard the shot from here." Andy whispered, his own gaze turning inward. "It echoed. I didn't think it would be so loud-"

"No! Shut up- he's not..."

It took shaking hands too many long seconds to hotwire the car and leave that stupid fuck Andy and his barbie girlfriend on that overpass.

Between the agony in his head and keeping the car on the road, Sam barely had the piece of mind to keep hitting 1 on his cell. It didn't matter- Dean didn't answer and he was already pulling up to the last place he'd seen his brother.

Pain blurred eyes scanned the small clearing and Sam could practically smell the fear and dispair that still hung in the air, coupled with the unmistakable scent of gunpowder.

It took finding Dean's body between the bushes, his heart already numb, to realize he never really believed his brother would leave this place alive.

Five

Dean's been missing for over a week by the time Sam is on the last set of warehouses to search.

Dean, his stupid brother, who ran off by himself to hunt the damn djinn without leaving his last location, without back-up, without Sam. Sam, who had less than a good night's sleep all week, frantic to find Dean before the clock in his mind did the final countdown to zero.

This was why they never ever hunted alone. Those years Sam was at Stanford seemed like the biggest bout of stupidity Sam had ever seen possess his brother and father. They didn't talk too much about it because he had come to hate how Dean and Dad seemed to think their lives had no worth without Sam to protect.

Either way, Dean was so getting his ass kicked when Sam found him. A fucking Djinn….

Djinn drained their victims of blood, kept them locked in their perfect fantasy world and unless Sam killed the son of a bitch who knew if simply finding Dean would be enough?

Turned out, it wasn't and suddenly Sam knew- the one thing worse than finding Dean dead in that abandoned warehouse was this; watching him slip away from Sam in a hospital bed, with a smile on his face.

One

A crossroads was a fucking nuisance to defend Sam thought wildly, still high from the fight. His eyes kept flickering away from the smouldering body that was once Lilith and the scorched grass and flowers that had once decorated the roads. Those were worries that could wait, forever if needed.

All that mattered was Dean, still alive and breathing in his arms. The hounds had come and left their marks in the deep slashes down Dean's legs, until Sam had nothing left to lose (Humanity? What was that without Dean?) and just let go.

The air had cleared and Sam was sure he should have been horrified in the mess he'd left of the poor child Lilith had been possessing but somehow, Dean's never ending murmurs ("They're gone…..I can't see them anymore Sammy….They're all gone.") made everything seem worth it.


	2. Five Times Sam Saved The World

Five Times Sam Saved the World and One Time He Didn't

_**~One~**_

BOOM!

_Darkness._

Ow.

The flicker of light- of fire Sam's mind told him as it registered the smell of smoke and burning grass- was the first thing he recognized that told him he wasn't dead.

Hell, he hurt too much to be dead.

His feet were sitting in the middle of a huge dent in the ground, like some divine being had accidentally elbowed the world or something, and the rocks around him still sizzled from the aftermath.

Geez, when Ruby had said he had a bomb in him, Sam hadn't thought she was being serious.

He vaguely hoped he wasn't radioactive.

"Sam!"

Dean's voice was hoarse- tortured and terrified and more than enough to make Sam pull himself up into sitting position and look around.

It was like sitting in the epicenter of the apocalypse. Literally. Sam had been the be all and end all of humanity as he fought against Lilith and her army for Dean's soul. He was just thankful, come crunch time, that the little voice at the back of his mind was enough to pull Sam back from the brink. If he had given in completely to the darkness inside himself then the fight to save Dean would have been for nothing- the world would have ended.

Sam watched from his seat on the burnt ground as Dean staggered down the incline like a bad drunk, slipping and sliding in the ash and gravel. Bobby poked his head up over the rim of the incline to watch, his hat burnt and hanging low over one eye. He slowly pulled himself to his feet and met his brother with a bone-crushing hug, ignoring how Dean trembled and clung to him like a limpet.

"You okay?" Sam ground out, trying not to squeeze too hard. Dean had been to Hell and back in the last twenty-four hours; he had to be hurting.

His brother pulled back a bit, keeping his hands on Sam's shoulders as his dirt streaked face came into view. "Dude, I'm not the one who just exploded after going ten rounds with a demonic Kelly doll."

Dean's crazy-ass humor startled a laugh from Sam as he pulled his brother back into his arms.

God, how he'd missed Dean.

_**~Two~**_

It was torture, waiting outside Monica's house for the demon that had destroyed their lives nearly twenty-three years ago. Knowing that some time during the night, Monica was going to go check on her daughter- like any good mother would- and find a stranger standing over Rosie's crib. A stranger who would pin her to the wall and slowly drag her screaming body up to the ceiling before splitting her stomach open and burning her alive.

Sam knew because he'd _seen_ it. Dean pretty much had the whole thing imagined up in his head. Sam didn't know which one was worse.

The real kicker was Sam knew the exact time that demonic son of a bitch would show up, and yet they were still stuck watching the house outside- like a bunch of perverted criminals. It was maddening.

Sam hadn't thought, when it came down to the end of it, that this saving people and hunting things business wouldn't involve so much sitting around on his ass and fucking waiting.

His eyes glanced at the dashboard time and his heart froze in his chest as a pulse of heat spiked down his spine. "Dean." He said, catching a sign of movement in the house and just knowing it was time.

The Colt felt alive in Sam's hand, warm and nearly pulsing with power- or maybe that was the beat of his heart, tinting every move he made. Monica's husband met them at the stairs, a baseball bat in his hand and wide frightened eyes. His wife's screams could be heard like they were being shouted in their ears and Sam left Dean to keep the husband occupied.

He had a demon to kill.

The door to the nursery was closed and he vaguely heard the doorknob clatter against the hardwood floor of Rosie's room as Sam burst in and clicked back the hammer on The Colt.

He didn't look for Monica- Sam knew if he saw her on the ceiling he'd get lost in Jessica's last breath and lose this one chance- he didn't even wait to make sure this was THE demon and not some sick criminal, terrorizing this helpless family.

Sam simply fired.

The bullet exploded from the gun and hit the shadow dead on, a perfect textbook head shot John Winchester would have been proud of.

There was a moment of complete silence, like the world had stopped to look for just a handful of seconds, until the shadowy man began to crackle and flash, like lightning caught in a dirty bottle.

Sam didn't move until the body dropped to the floor and the murky yellow color faded from the dead man's eyes. Monica had fallen from her spot half on, half off the ceiling and was already picking Rosie up, sobbing and stuttering words of comfort to the crying little girl.

Dean appeared in the doorway, letting Monica's husband push him into the door jam a bit as he looked at the body.

"Is it over?" He asked, like he couldn't believe it was happening, like it was really that freaking simple.

Sam understood. He tightened his hold on The Colt, fearful it was just the beginning of something else but knowing this chapter of their lives was well and truly finished. Mary Winchester was avenged. Jessica was avenged and all the demon's plans were useless.

"Yeah," Sam said quietly. "It's over."

_**~Three~**_

He knew it, he fucking knew it!

Sam struggled against the wall, furious with himself for letting his emotions get the better of him. Back in the apartment, he'd known the demons had done something to John Winchester other than torture the holy hell out of him. This was the man who'd spent over two decades hunting their leader- of course they'd do something like this, just to mess with their heads!

Having the demon- not just a demon but THE demon- possess John and let his two idiotic sons bring him back to their last standing safe house was exactly what Sam was afraid of when he'd tried to make Dean back off and flicked the holy water on his father's still form.

And now….

Sam had always been too smart for his own good- had it been him, he'd have done the exact same thing. Infect the enemy from the inside, like a fucking Trojan horse.

The demon taunted them both, bringing up Jess, clawing at Dean's chest, all the while smiling their dad's familiar rugged grin…although the eyes were off. Way, way off Sam thought wildly. Eyes were windows to the soul- it figured his dad's would be that murky yellow color that always made Sam think of the words yellow fever.

Rage and fear grew in Sam's blood, coupling with desperation and that choking feeling of complete helplessness. Sam hated feeling helpless- he'd been helpless when the demon first visited his crib as a baby and set his mother on fire, he was helpless when Jessica gasped and bled on their ceiling before burning into nothingness and he was just as helpless now as Dean's breaths grew labored and wet.

Taunting yellow eyes turned his way with a smirk. All that emotion swelled and something in Sam shattered like thinly spun glass

"Move the gun there, psychic boy."

And he did.

_**~Four~**_

He was going to be a sure-fire lady-killer when he grew into those dimples, that was for sure, the demon thought with a dark chuckle. Coupled with those big, wide eyes, Azazel rather hoped Samuel Winchester didn't inherit the mind-control abilities first- he already had a sure thing with good looks like that.

Sam only cried a little as the demon looked down into his crib, something that both impressed the demon and made him wary. Most of his Chosen either slept through the experience or wailed like….well, like babies. He'd been the mysterious cause of a lot of fires because the psychic hopefuls were too damn sensitive for him to sneakily taint their blood with his own.

Those who survived the flames weren't home free of course- there was a plethora of childhood illnesses that struck down his Chosen- those with too much blood died suddenly and mysteriously; or SIDS as it was called.

Those with too little blood were… more than useless to Azazel. They were dangerous and weeded out at an early age. Thankfully humans were sick enough to hunt their own kind and left the demon with plenty of cover stories.

But Sammy here……. He was perfect. Not even a year in human age and already so powerful. Moving his mobile like that, sensing his presence without a drop of demon blood in him. Yes, Sam Winchester was already his favorite.

He'd have to be careful then.

A small cut though the soft vein-y part of this meat suit's wrist and one, two, three drops-

"John? Is he hungry?"

The mother.

Azazel froze at her intrusion, fear and angry warring for dominance. There was a connection here, between mother and child, one that could tame the darkness now lurking in this boy's veins; something soft and pure that only a mother could give her son.

But Sam was_ his_ now and there was no way he would let Mary Campb- Mary Winchester take this chance away from him.

"Shhhhh."

He could feel her annoyance. "Alright."

She turned back towards her bedroom, unaware of what she was leaving her youngest son with, and Azazel couldn't help but chuckle.

He'd won.

-------------

Lights always flickered in a house as old as theirs but this was just weird.

Mary tapped the glass cover with a frown and a sinking feeling that screamed something was wrong. This was a sign, the flickering hall light…the television in the living room? What?

But John was upstairs with Sammy…why would he have left the television-

The sight of her husband- her loving, protective, oblivious husband- sprawled out in that lazy boy chair knocked the breath right out of her.

Because if Johnny was down here, who had she just left upstairs with Sammy?

Sam.

Heart-stopping terror didn't even come close to the lump in her chest, the tightness of her throat.

"Sam."

She couldn't even scream his name!

"Sammy!"

The fear stole everything- her breath, her strength, her speed, her damn common sense. She had one name on her mind and it couldn't even be squeezed out between her numb lips. Fuck, Sammy was six months old, screaming his name was beyond stupid!

The door banged open, hitting the wall and nearly smacking into Mary's shoulder before she came to a stop. The tall shadow- too tall to be Johnny she realized- turned with a jerk, revealing its sickly yellow eyes.

"You……"

It barely moved before her back hit the wall and Mary knew things had just gotten much, much worse. She slid quickly up the wall, struggling without the slightest movement. God, she was going to die here and it was going to get her family, just like it had done before. The deal had been something of Mary's for John's life that night but never had she thought it would come for her baby boy.

A sob tore from her throat, loud and harsh, causing Sammy to start bawling. Mary came to a stop over his crib, watching his tiny, beautiful face screw up into terrified tears before a searing pain stole any words she had for her littlest boy.

The thing- the demon her mind shouted back smartly- considered Sam suddenly, not even giving her a glance as her baby continued to scream bloody murder.

"Get away from him. Christo! Chris- Spiritus- Fuck!" Something warm and sticky had her nightgown clinging to her burning stomach as the words of an exorcism- any exorcism- danced on the tip of her tongue. If she could just, just get down, get Sam, get Dean, get John…. Where in the fucking hell was John anyway? He had to have heard them screaming…..

The demon reached out to touch her baby and helplessness crashed over Mary. She was pinned to the ceiling like a bug, watching this thing poke and prod her littlest boy.

"Sammy, baby. Please, don't cry. Mommy's here. I'll protect you. Sammy. Sam, please."

The demon laughed at her feeble attempt to console her boy, as Mary watched a lone drop of her blood- her life- drip down onto her everything.

The drop hit Sam's forehead and he stopped screaming. The demon tensed as her baby's eyes flickered open and just stared up at Mary on the ceiling. Something brushed her forehead, like lips or fingertips, before a soft 'moma' echoed in her ears.

It felt like ages had passed until Sam blinked and broke their connection. The sweetest baby smile Mary had ever seen crossed his face as a soft light seemed to spread across his skin like water. Sam giggled quietly as the light grew and brightened.

The demon hissed and turned for the door that trapped him as well, spitting Latin like it was chewing tobacco.

Mary had to close her eyes at the intensity of the shine off her baby boy. The light was warm against her skin and cool against the fire in her belly and somehow she knew everything would be alright. The demon screeched, high-pitched and frightening but the noise soon faded out into quiet and Mary let herself go.

----------

"Mary! Mary, wake up!"

John had heard his wife's scream from upstairs and knew without a doubt she was in Sam's nursery. The fear in his chest tripled as Sam's cries joined in with her frantic calls for help.

John had pounded on that standard Home Depot issue door but the damn thing had held like it was reinforced steel instead of cheap imported wood. Dean had stumbled out of his bedroom, wide-eyed and terrified as he listened to the unknowable horror taking place in his baby brother's room while his Dad fought with a fucking door.

When everything went silent, John's heart had folded in on itself, like a dusty broken accordion. Dean was sobbing into his leg, begging to see his mommy and Sammy until the soft light of…something seeped out under the cracks of the door.

Someone hit Sam's nursery door something fierce, screaming words John only half knew from church and in a voice the ex-marine shivered at.

There was a pop, like a missile had exploded and you were too close to hear the roar it made for miles, and then the light receded in waves, gently and calmly.

The door clicked open, making the two Winchesters jump back in surprise. John pushed Dean behind him, scared of what he'd find left of his youngest boy's room.

Everything was in perfect order, except for the still form of his wife spread across the nursery floor.

That was how John had come to find himself by his baby's crib, rocking his still, blood covered wife in his arms as his oldest hugged Sam like he was his favorite blankey.

Mary's nightgown was ripped across the stomach and soaked in blood but the skin under he cut was clear and unblemished of even the c-section scars from bearing both of their boys. Another possibility entered John's head but it was too horrible to think about.

"Sam. Sammy, Sammy, Sam, Sam." Dean sang softly, his eyes flickering back and forth between his baby brother and his mommy. John didn't know what he would tell them if she didn't, if-

Mary groaned like it was Sunday morning feeding time and tried to move.

"Mare? Thank God." John whispered intercepting the hand she was reaching up to her stomach. "Stop- I need to know where your hurt."

"Hurt?" She muttered, her brows knitting in confusion. "I'm not hurt."

John stopped stroking her hair softly. "Baby, you're covered in blood."

Mary shot up with a strangled gasp. "Sam!"

Dean tightened his grip on the baby, looking at his parents fearfully, like he was terrified they'd try and take his little brother away. John sat back as well.

"Sam?" He paled. "This is Sammy's blood?!"

Mary shook her head opening her arms to her two boys. Dean nearly tripped over himself to reach his mom, crying silently into the shoulder of her ruined nightgown. Her eyes scanned Sam's bloody crib with an intent glaze, sliding up to the ceiling before skipping over her husband to land on the nursery doorway.

Her eyes widened, causing John to whip around and look for…. He wasn't even sure. His jaw dropped at what caught his gaze.

A scorch mark, shaped like a man reaching up for salvation, was burned into the back of the door, still smoking in places. Mary touched his neck, turning John away from the sight with sad, tired eyes.

"Mary, what happened here?"

Dean's green eyes weighted his worth intently before she spoke.

"John, there's something I have to tell you."

_**~Five~**_

_"We made one hell of a team back there."_

Sam couldn't seem to get Dean's voice out of his head, along with how right it had felt to be hunting again. Like the rusty gears in his head had started cranking, after years of being unused. It shouldn't be that easy to slip back into something you hated… should it?

_"Dad's missing."_

It was amazing how those two words had him packing up and driving halfway across a state to find a man Sam could barely share three words with, without having a screaming match. It- just the idea that something could get the jump on John Winchester after a twenty-two year record of perfection scared Sam more than he'd ever admit.

Even more than the dreams.

The hunter shook his head and trudged up the noisy stairs to his apartment. He was a Winchester and Winchesters didn't believe in psychics or premonitions or ESP. No way was Sam going to start now, all because of a bunch of nightmares that made no sense. His psychology professor would have a field day picking apart his dreams of late- how his fears about commitment and Jessica stemmed from the lost of his mother at such an early age…. blah, blah, blah.

Sam didn't have the time or the sanity to explain to any shrink that he was screwed up because his mother was murdered by a demon and his father had raised him and his brother in the back of a '67 Impala, teaching them how to kill the supernatural. It wasn't a conversation that would end well.

The door was unlocked, making Sam pause at the oversight. Jess had been a victim of a home invasion before moving in with him, and had taken to locking the doors and windows by seven thirty every night.

An oily sensation slid up Sam's hand and into his skull, mixing with the dread growing in his mind. The feeling was oddly familiar- like smelling a scent you'd hadn't smelled in a long time. Only this didn't invoke feelings of happiness and sunshine. This was bad.

Sam slipped his knife out from his packsack, flipping from tired college student to expert hunter in milliseconds. His pack hit the floor soundlessly and his feet seemed to float above the tiles as he scouted out the room.

Everything was in perfect order, a note and a plate of cookies sat innocently on the kitchen's tiny island that Sam ignored. That slick, sickly sensation grew as he made his way towards their bedroom.

Jessica screamed.

Everything his father and brother had ever drilled into his head about hunting vanished at those painful screams. Sam didn't bother with a sneak attack, barreling into their bedroom like an angry bull.

His eyes took in the steaming shower in the bathroom and the man standing still in the middle of the room.

For a second, the feeling of déjà vu crept over Sam's mind, taking him back to his meeting with Dean earlier that weekend. The shadow man turned to face him and any trace of his brother was wiped clean from his mind.

Dean's eyes were a mix of green and gold, his smirk familiar and infuriating all at once. This… thing's eyes were sickly and yellowed, swirling through the natural black and whites of human eyeballs. His smirk was cold and cruel, growing as those horrible eyes flicked up towards the ceiling.

Sam, against his better judgment, looked as well, and froze.

Jess was white, too white, and pinned to the cheap drywall-ed ceiling like the butterfly of a sixth grader's science project. Her golden hair looked like wings. Her broken leg looked like antennae.

"Sam…." She gasped, her chest jerking, causing a rainfall of scarlet drops to fall from the mocking smile slashed across her belly.

Sam took a step forward, his eyes tearing away from the terrifying sight to burn against that yellow gaze.

"Let her down!"

The man laughed and flicked his wrist lazily.

Sam's eyes widened as he hit the wall- a favorite move among demons he guessed- and was held trapped.

"Sammy Winchester." It hissed joyfully. "Been a long time since I last saw you, my boy. Twenty-one and a half years tonight, in fact."

Sam jerked against the air that held him- telekinesis his mind supplied frantically- as the news hit him. "You're the demon that killed my mother."

"Guilty!" It chirped, like it was proud. "Pinned her like a beetle and burned her like a marshmallow." It grinned at him, winking in false conspiracy. "I have to say, just between the two of us- she was my favorite. She screamed for you. She cried for you. Hell, she came back up those stairs for you, Sammy. Most mothers don't even check."

Sam huffed in a breath, glancing up at Jessica as she grew paler. Her tiny slip of a nightgown had been transformed into a sleeve of blood silk, as was the covers beneath her dying body.

"Let Jess go- she has nothing to do with you."

The demon shook a finger at Sam, smiling up at his victim above them.

"You should know better than that, Sammy. Everyone you've ever known is fair game to me." It laughed. "Even some you don't!"

It made another slashing motion towards his girlfriend and Jess screamed again, sobbing this time as more blood dribbled from her torn stomach. Sam roared, thrashing against his bonds, wishing for his father, Dean, anyone to come and save them. His blood pumped loudly in his ears, like drums and thunder- a coming storm.

"Sam….stop...please, stop him." Jess sobbed as blood bubbled up on her grey lips. Each breath made her willowy frame tremble and shake until she stilled as Sam watched, helpless against the bedroom wall.

Something pushed against his eyes and temples, dark and hot under his skin as the demon put on a shocked expression.

"Oops! I think I killed her." He tisk-ed in disappointment, still smirking at Sam. "Such a pity- she didn't last very long at all."

The pressure behind his eyes and under his temples cracked and spilt out, across the room, simply surrounding the demon. Sam couldn't see it but he could _see_ it and that was more than enough. He looked up at Jess one more time, dropping to the floor as her body all but exploded into flames.

The demon choked and clawed at whatever had slipped out of Sam, its yellow eyes huge and panicked. His own eyes were burning, pulsing in time with his heart as the man and the demon shuddered one last time and the unnatural glow faded from muddy, ordinary eyes.

Sam sat on the floor, unsure how he even got there when Dean's terrified face appeared in the doorway. There were hands on his jacket and a voice shouting in his face but all Sam could see was Jess, beautiful, brave Jess, burning on their ceiling.

The fire department left it up to the cops to solve the mystery of how a fire could originate on the ceiling of a cement building but Sam had already babbled his cover-story and the charred remains of Jess and the demon's victim would back him up.

Dean was a constant presence at his side, one hand on his elbow all the way to the car. He'd gone to give the cops his cell number as Sam headed to the trunk and blindly began filling the shotguns with ammo. He could hear their neighbors out and fucking nosing around in their night clothes, whispering about tragedy and staring at him until Sam couldn't take it anymore.

Dean was silent, unsure and heartsick over his brother's obvious loss.

"I- I called Dad again." He said with a stammer. "I'm not sure he'll call us back or if he even can but I told him. I told him what you said."

Sam wouldn't look at him, because Dean would want to know the truth, every last drop and Sam's not too sure what happened himself.

The dreams were real. Sam somehow killed a yellow-eyed demon while weaponless and pinned to the wall. Put together it was unbelievable, even in his weird world.

"Sam," Dean asked softly. "Was it the demon? The one that got Mom?"

Sam nodded, clicking the shotgun back together crisply. "Don't worry, Dean. It's dead. I killed it."

"Killed- Sammy, you know you can't kill a demon." Dean grasped the gun as his eyes scanned the crowd. Sam looked up at him, the anger and the uncertainty still there.

"I can." Dean's eyes widened as Sam yanked the gun from his slack grip and said

"We've got work to do."

_**~One~**_

No matter what anyone- like Gordon Walker perhaps- will tell you, it took _weeks _to break Sam Winchester down. Honestly, Azazel thought he'd have to kill the boy just before the end of it. Stubbornness was definitely a trait humans could do without.

Dean and Bobby started out from that fucking diner, going in circles looking for the missing Winchester as omens upon omens began to stack up against them. Ellen, Ash and Jo caught up with them in Wyoming, just in time to hear about the Roadhouse getting blown to bits and taking it fair share of hunters with it.

Jackson fed Walker's newest fraction- the one out for Sam's blood- a shit load of false info, sending them out to California while Dean and every able-bodied person he'd ever known and trusted started out to find Sam. Ash had it narrowed down to Wyoming when disaster hit.

***********

It was worse than anything Sam had ever expected. Ava was mad with power before Jake took her down, slaughtering even the little kids the demon had snatched from their bed and dropped alone down in Cold Oaks. She fooled everyone, pulling the young psychics into the barn to sleep before calling up hellfire to burn them while they dreamed of the flames.

Lily had been punished for trying to escape but not before taking a good chunk of the crazy kids with her. Anyone who'd already been to Cold Oaks was too far gone to be saved, and those that weren't soon found themselves dead.

Andy didn't even get the chance to choose- Ava's acheri ripping him to shreds before their very eyes. Sam had never been to war before, but this, this fight for survival between people who couldn't possibly be human anymore couldn't have been better.

When Jake caught him from behind, Sam was ready for it. The soldier had physical strength over him, but no control of his more mental abilities. Sam had a lifetime as a hunter, knowledge of what he was and the discipline to control it under his belt. Barring a few bruises and scrapes, it was child's play, taking Jake down.

Sam had been Azazel's favorite for a reason.

The demon had burned the forgotten town down after Sam had defeated Jake. He was the American Idol, good job! It took the youngest Winchester somewhere dark and frightening, revealing his plan like he was the quirky villain of a popular children's novel.

Sam had refused. Sam had tired to escape.

Sam had been punished.

Not even his visions hurt the way the demon made him feel. Sam wanted to be out of his own skin it was so unbearable. He wanted to die, would do anything to just make it stop.

It would, just for a moment. Long enough for the demon to hold out the Colt- so close but so far away- and tempt Sam into taking his prize.

Each time, the hunter told him no.

Demonic possessions rose steadily as the legions of the Damned waited for their Chosen Leader to rise up and call them up from the bowels of Hell. The hunters' number dwindled down to dangerous levels; too few fighting an impossible fight as Sam endured and held out for his brother.

Dean would come for him.

"He doesn't even know where you are!" The demon would snarl in frustration. "Even if he did, Dean could never walk this plane; he's mortal. But you, you're tainted Sammy and no one is coming to save you now. No one wants to."

Sam had learned after just a few days to tune the fucker out.

Until the day the pain stopped, and Azazel strolled into the room with a too smug smirk pasted on his stolen face.

"Still holding out for Big Brother, Sammy?" It taunted, swinging something around and around his finger. It took Sam a moment to realize it was Dean's pendant.

"I told you already, he's not coming. Well, not _anymore_." The demon chuckled at his own joke, still swinging the pendant from its leather tong. It leant in closer, blowing foul smelling air into Sam's face.

"Just give up, Precious. Dean's dead."

Sam didn't fight anymore and took the Colt when it was offered, with shaky, defeated hands.

All it took to end the world was a gun and a guy named Sam, walking through an old cemetery in Wyoming. Gordon and his lackeys didn't even make it to the border of good ole Cali before Sam turned the Colt and the world exploded.

* * *

A/N: These are all AUs- as you can tell. I just wanted to make sure it wasn't confusing. The next Five Times part will be 'Five Times Dean Saved Sammy and One Time He Didn't' Enjoy!

S. Tangerine


	3. Five Times Sam Didn't Make A Deal

WARNING: THIS ONE INCLUDES WINCEST.

Five Times Sam Didn't Make A Deal For Dean (And One Time He Did)

~One~

The black dog had torn into Dean like he was a peanut butter slathered num-num. John had them both stuffed into the backseat after blasting the beast to pieces, swearing at the dark back roads and every bump that made Dean cry out.

Sam wisely kept silent this time, too busy applying pressure with blood-soaked towels and t-shirts to point out that this was all Dad's fault anyway.

Dean stopped breathing as the lights of the hospital came into view, Sam bending down to give his brother life. John shut up at the sight, his hands tightening on the steering wheel as he jerked the impala to a halt just outside the emergency room doors.

Impersonal hands hauled Sam off his brother who coughed and stuttered on the stretcher. Sam wanted to yell at them- he'd felt like he was Dean's whole life, pushing oxygen from his mouth through his brother's lips.

John grabbed his shoulder when he tried to follow the cloud of nurses and doctors and Dean, holding him back- always holding him back- from what he really wanted.

"Go sit in the waiting room. I need to sort out the insurance."

Sam sneered at him, biting off curses and words he knew would tear his dad to the bone. Sometimes it wasn't even worth it.

He turned away from John, angrily bypassing the Waiting Room full of sick, helpless people and pain to stop in front of the warm doors marked chapel.

A Code Blue sounded on the PA and Sam collapsed against the door, running away from the possibility of his brother ending up as just another code on speakers.

The chapel was dark and empty, the candles at the front flickering as the door swung shut behind him. Sam sank into the closet pew, folded his hands and asked "Please, don't take him yet. I'll do anything."

Luckily, Hell had no ears in a church.

~Two~

The doctors said 'no hope'. Nothing could fix the damage done to Dean's heart.

"A transplant?" Sam asked desperately. "That could happen- that could fix it."

"He'll be on the waiting list for years, he doesn't have that long." Everyone told him. "They best we can do is keep him comfortable and wait."

Sam hated waiting.

He called Dad, Bobby, Joe, Eric, Caleb, Pastor Jim, Dad, Eden, Elijah, Joseph, Joshua, Zack, Carrie, Melissa, Dad, Tina, Travis, Jackson, Heather and John Fucking Winchester but no one could help. Those who didn't answer, Sam left messages and prayed for a miracle.

When Dean showed up, pale and tired and still cocky as Hell, Sam wrapped him in blankets and crawled in beside him, kissing Dean's neck and mouthing silently "I'll do anything to save you. Anything."

Hell was listening, but Joshua answered first.

~Three~

Dean looked small in that hospital bed, tubes coming out of everywhere. Trapped in a coma from the wounds their dad had carved into his chest and the crash Sam couldn't avoid- Dean always seemed to be paying for his family's mistakes.

He could still hear the scream of the heart monitors, the distant echo of Dean's spirit and the crunch of mental on metal. The room was warm and empty of his brother's spirit now; Sam hoped he had the good sense to keep away from the Reaper but- this was Dean.

They would be lucky if he wasn't actively hunting the damn thing.

Dad's journal was useless, Dad was missing and Sam didn't know anything that could put Dean back, even if he did bind the Reaper. He felt hopeless and wrung-out and faded.

Sam bent his head and whispered "I'll give anything to make him better again."

Hell heard, but John had already paid his soul.

~Four~

Halfway though to a hundred and one Tuesdays, Sam dragged Dean into a church and locked them both in a confessional. His brother was silent and puzzled as Sam sank to the bottom of the booth and sobbed.

Dean squeezed down beside him, wiped away tears and kissed him silent when he heard "Please, God. I'll do anything- just make it stop. Just keep him alive and I'll do anything."

Sam knew his brother didn't believe in Heaven and God and Angels but he wasn't willing to take the chance. Winchesters had made enough deals, he'd said before tripping over the worn carpet and impaling himself on a brass candlestick.

Thankfully, or not, Hell had stopped listening at Tuesday number forty-five.

~Five~

Please God.

_God._

I'll give anything-

_-anything-_

Just let me save him.

_Let me save Dean_.

Three hundred and sixty-four days of praying, begging and bargaining and Sam still watched Dean fall apart at the stroke of midnight. No quick saves, no counter-deals, no Colt. Ruby hid the enemy like a fucking Trojan horse, laughing and smiling as Sam cried and screamed in the corner.

When Dean stopped fighting, breathless and _gone_ Sam stopped asking to be saved.

_God, no._

Let me go with him.

It didn't work- nothing had ever taken Sam's deal before. When the smoke had cleared, Ruby and Dean side-by-side, did he crawl across the hardwood floor and the blood to lie beside his brother and ask "Please, just take me with him."

Bobby found him like that, whispering contracts into the mess of Dean's chest.

Hell was listening, but Dean screamed so prettily.

~One~

Dean had been in Hell for ten hours when Sam tried to make his first deal. The demon had laughed at him, her borrowed body the image of Jessica and Mary. She'd laughed until Sam drew the knife across her throat and lit her up like lightning in a bottle.

Dean had been in Hell for three weeks when deals two through ten were met with silence and shallow graves.

Dean had been in Hell for two months when the demons stopped showing up at the crossroads. Ruby stood off to the side, impatient and frustrated as Sam waited till dawn, standing in the middle of the crossroads.

Dean had been in Hell for nearly four months when Sam buried the knife in Ruby's heart and stumbled to his last deal. The man was smart mouthed and smug and reminded him of Dean. Hell was listening this time, when Sam said "I'll give anything."

This time, Hell answered.


End file.
